We've learnt to celebrate sadness by flicking ashes off our fingers
So often –
As if not watching something burn cannot fund the art of our pain.
We've learnt to celebrate joy by tipping glass bottles over our lips
So often –
As if not having our oesophagus on fire cannot fuel our happiness hormones.
We're replacing sunsets with cigarette burns,
Earth with cigarette butts.
Somewhere down the road, we've learnt to replace laughter with "and one more shot!",
And companionship with drug induced limbs.
YOU ARE READING
Gold, Mortality and Everything in Between || Poetry ✓
Poetrywhy does everything that make us feel even remotely alive kill us? //collection of poetry//
